


The fallen King

by starvation_t



Category: Dream Team (Fandom), Dream Team (Video Blogging RPF), Minecraft (Video Blogging RPF), Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dream SMP but George gets a villain arc, George but uhh kinda sadistic, Heroes to Villains, King GeorgeNotFound, M/M, Villain George, alternative storyline, alternative universe, arsonist Sapnap, he also has daggers, knight dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:28:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28116942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starvation_t/pseuds/starvation_t
Summary: “You think you’re the puppet-player of this realm, Clay, but I’m the one tugging your strings.”He coos, eyes pitch dark as he stands up on his tippy toes, their bodies almost touching.“You’re convincing yourself of a lie.”Dream says. He could feel the breath of a chuckle on his lips as the king was amused.The king tilted his head, moving closer and closer. Their breaths mingled.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Karl Jacobs, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 102





	1. The fall of the crowned

**Author's Note:**

> CW for knives/swords!  
> Hope you enjoy! Comments are highly appreciated.

George sighs, running his fingers down the cold blade of netherite. He had a few hours left in this castle. At sunrise, he had to leave this to be Eret’s kingdom all over again. All at Dream’s word. The decision had been made quicker than the snap of a finger.

George felt something boil inside of him. An inner turmoil, waiting to consume the good and corrupt the dethroned king. It was the purest form of anger, darker and hotter than any material in this realm. Harder than netherite, more aggressive than the heat of the nether. Yet, his facade didn’t even crack. He was calm, collected. Scarily understanding as well.

He turned his wrist so his palm faced the sky, the handle gripped firmly in his right hand. He didn’t give his knight a glance, looking at the dark sky before looking at the ground beneath his feet. It wouldn’t dare crumble, it would crumble under the landscape around him soon though. No stars were out in the autumn sky, the air was dry and sharp with coldness, a storm was about to start. It wouldn’t cool the anger boiling up, raising up through the king’s veins. George raised his arm until the tip of his sword met the underside of Dream’s chin, tilting it up.

“You don’t hate me, do you?” The voice was cold, not even the king himself recognized it. He felt the knight shift ever so slightly, yet he followed with the blade, keeping it under his chin. The rush of adrenaline, George knew the other felt it too. Their pulses were heightened.

“I d-“ The knight tried to defend, like he always did. *Not now* the king thought. Not now, dear knight. I am speaking. “You just think I’m this fragile little thing, don’t you.” He was persistent, his feet shifting, turning to Dream, slow, cautious. He took a small step forward, not letting any space for the knight to breathe be there.

He pressed the tip forward in the unscarred tanned skin. *Too nice to cut and ruin*, the king thought again. The knight stepped back.

“What?” The railing inched closer to the knight’s back with his step. The king did not look at him. His words were confident and poisonous. The king had no intent of stopping now, he stood behind his word. His steps were stable, unbreakable.

“Your little damsel in distress, in need to be protected, helpless without you.” The tone was taunting now, teasing and dripping in green poison. It was like a little dance of words, trying to persuade the knight. The king was leading this dance though, and he wouldn’t switch the positions now. There there was no mercy left in his eyes as he glanced up at his knight. The tip of the the sword was still against his throat.

“I... do not.” Dream didn’t recognize those eyes. They weren’t brown, and unfolded in the sunlight like pots of the richest honey. They were dark, like liquid obsidian. Dream had never seen eyes that dark. They were guarded, and he couldn’t see behind them, no matter how hard he tried. They only reflected his own thoughts. He swore he saw a glint of satisfaction in the king’s eyes as he smirked, marveling at the knight being lost in panicking thought.

“Well then.” The king spoke, letting his sword fall, still holding it. The tip scratched against the marble of the floor on the balcony, building sparks with a loud, ear-ringing screech. It was horrible to listen to, it echoed back in your skull.

The king stepped back, movement elegant as he kept one hand behind his back, the other on the handle of the sword. He steps back more, jumping up and landing on the railing of the balcony. He didn’t wobble, which was what scared his ‘beloved’ knight.

He stepped back and forth, his right side on the side of the air, his left turned to the balcony and his knight. He spun the sword in his wrist, dancing back and forth on the thin of the metal beneath his feet.

“Your highness, I will kindly ask you to-“ The knight tried to get the king off the railing. The king cut him off again.

“You think I can’t handle being the king.” He spoke, still balancing, walking back and forth on the railing. He rose to speak again, his head turning to look at Dream. “And I agree.” He smirks. “but I don’t think you are concerned for my health or think I should be king because I’m too weak to handle the responsibility. It’s because you’re scared that I’m gaining power over *your* people.”

“I’m not scared, George.” The knight responded and the king’s smile twisted in a horribly terrifying expression. It was pure evil intent, it didn’t fit the king’s face. It looked like it was glitched, as if something else had taken over George.

“You’re the true king of these folks, huh?” The king's expression was readable as sadistic anger. He was going to snap, but before he would bathe in his knight’s uncertainty. “You still, even though being the king’s guard, are above them all in might and influence.” The king stated the truth in such a manipulative way that it seemed to be deceit. “But as soon as that little control is taken from you or tugged upon beneath your fingers, you *slip*. You become irrational, Dream. And it’s ugly.” The king pointed out, the knight huffing hot air and snarling.

The knight was silent.

“It was easy to persuade Eret, wasn’t it?” The king chuckles. “You just needed to call him pretty and he was in your palm. They are easy to manipulate to your rules. And that sits right with you in all ways. You want things to go your way and if it doesn’t, you try to light the whole kingdom to flames.”

“I do not.” He barks back, trying to bare his teeth to silence and intimidate the king. The king didn’t flinch, walking down from the railing and landing in soft elegance. He looked up at the taller knight, a smirk placed on his face. It was still as chilling as before.

“Still not convinced?” The king asks the rhetorical question. “You would start a war over me getting hurt. You want to keep me under you, want me to have a soft spot and trust you.” He says, stepping forward, continuing his leading dance with the knight. His fingers twitched around the handle of his sword. Both of their trust for each other had never been this thin and invincible. It was like they’d been opponents from the start.

“You already do.” Dream says, eyes squinting slight as he also placed a hand around his sword, ready to pull the sharp blade on the king.

“What if I said the roles were reversed?” The king says, his tone so bitter almost no sweetness was left. Even though he pretended to be innocent, the halo over his head was dripping in acid and the darkest resin.

“They... they aren’t.” The knight was slipping. Control was slipping from his fingers. He almost stumbled as he took a step back, pressed against the wall. The king gripped his collar, pulling him down to let their eyes meet.

“You think you’re the puppet-player of this realm, Clay, but I’m the one tugging your strings.” He coos, eyes pitch dark as he stands up on his tippy toes, their bodies almost touching.

“You’re convincing yourself of a lie.” Dream says. He could feel the breath of a chuckle on his lips as the king was amused. The king tilted his head, moving closer and closer. Their breaths mingled. “So sweet yet so unbelievably clueless. You never dethroned me to protect me, you dethroned me to knock me down, out of your mind and senses.” His tone velvety seductiveness, dipped in passive aggression.

“I-“ The knight gave up on speaking. He wasn’t able to think and the king was aware. The king slid one foot forward, hooking it behind the knights leg, pulling it towards him. The knight slid down to George’s height.

The tension was pure steel.

“You can’t stop, obsessed over me, like a little puppy following me around, playing fetch and bringing me back what I desire, asking for pets and worship...”

“I’m not.” Dream spat back, George dropping his head down a little and giggling against Dream’s neck. It wasn’t a sweet chuckle, it was an off-the-hook cackle, hiccupping in rough waves.

“You’re in such deep deep denial right now, sweetheart. But it’s too late now. You have a weakness for me, and I’ve got you tied around my fingers, moving at my say.” George says, moving his head back up, staring deep into Dream’s eyes, caving him in.

“I’m going to get more power, through you.” He says, his mouth moving to Dream’s ear to growl, his voice deep and monotone almost.

“And you won’t be able to do anything.” He promises due to his tone, letting go of Dream’s collar, chuckling. He takes off his crown, letting it fall to the ground as he ties the cape around his neck tight and makes sure it is secure.

He jumped on the railing, turned to Dream to smirk at the knight’s angry expression. He tilted back, dropping into the deep depths of midnight air as he fell beside one of the castle’s walls. He turns, taking two small daggers and punching his fists forward, the sharp blades digging into the wooden frame around the cobblestone brick wall. He smiles, looking at the ground that now was about 4 feet beneath him. He pulls the daggers out and drops onto the grass, smiling up at the faint sight of the balcony. He glanced over to his left. The sunrise had arrived. Now he was truly the dethroned king.

Yet, his power was anything but lost.


	2. Prince of the underworld

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d be the matchstick-flick to George’s gasoline pouring. He’d be the one to watch it go up in flames, right as the tactical spreading of George’s power promised. For one matchstick it would take one tree, but with one matchstick a whole forest would be nothing but cooling ashes. For what little they have been given, the whole would be taken. If they can’t have it, no one would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you guys enjoy!!  
> it's a lil shorter I know, but I'm already working on the next chapter!

* * *

George had been isolating himself a bit further away from the town, in the vacation home he had built and rebuilt. He trained on a daily basis, obsessed with the bruises and scratches. Someone might say he would only call it a successful day if he got scratches from training.  
Luckily, he wasn’t alone, training.  
Sapnap, also feeling betrayed by Dream, decided to join George’s side. They, beside sword fighting and new maneuvers, trained communication. Hand signs or just simple movements, non-verbal communication had to be key.  
They weren’t ones for plans.

They had built their own little kingdom, by rebuilding a broken-down bastion.  
When you get dethroned in the overworld, you build your own throne and claim it in the underworld. Lose power in one place, gain power in another.  
It was easy really, no one had ever been brave enough to last long amounts of time in the nether, so they had nothing to defend or attack, no competition.  
So that’s how George became the king, or more so the prince of the underworld.  
Surprisingly the mobs that had once proved to be difficult to deal with served more than just one purpose. Beside their remains and items, their tactics were not ones to be laughed upon.  
The blaze used quick strikes, and even though they had to recharge after attacking, they always forced the player into submission.  
Ghasts were far-distanced for a reason. Their skin was delicate, but from far away and above pools of lava, a player that wasn’t prepared had to stand in constant defense and try to redirect the balls of fire.  
Wither skeletons irritated the player. They loved to tease, to confuse and watch the player slowly lose control until they were one hit away from their doom.  
Magma cubes were slow, but not easy to defeat. They were like boulders. When you struck them down, they multiplied. They weren’t affected by either heat or cold.  
Piglets were dealers, you only become friends temporarily if you offer them treasure. They travelled in groups for a reason, emptying your pockets of any gold in a short notice. Unless you wear what they desire, to show them that you’re on their side. True tricksters.  
Hoglins protected their family at all costs. They weren’t great in battle perhaps, but still not to be underestimated. Sometimes it’s not worth the pork chops.  
Striders aren’t threatening, but their abilities are more than just impressive. In the purest form of heat, they don’t flinch, they even think it’s more comforting than the cold. They love to challenge.  
They watched the mobs and learned, observed their tactics and improved them to fit together the perfect counterattack to any situation. They weren’t ones for plans, but maybe they were ones for tactics after all...  
They turned contras into pros, and they both favorited a certain mob and mostly subconsciously formed their own style of battle inspired by them. It was like a type of dance you develop by freely dancing. Some prefer elegance and lightness, some grounded and slow, some ambitious and risky, some calculated and exact.  
From the source of their battle styles, they also developed a taste for a certain form of medium. Fire, poison, slashing, you get it.  
Sapnap had been particularly fond of the blaze. Their quick attacks and overwhelming shots were right down his alley. He would be aware of their weakness, the recharging or resting, though. He would try and overwhelm his opponent and then run, giving them no time to come up with a plan. He would let them chase him. He loved flames, more than he might sometimes admit to George. The crackling of the destruction was his lullaby. His path would preferably be the one of ash, and the thick heated nether air filled his lungs with inner satisfaction. The overwhelming light and sizzling heat on his skin was welcomed. He was the flickering flame, never calm, always moving against the wind, never submitting.  
He’d be the matchstick-flick to George’s gasoline pouring. He’d be the one to watch it go up in flames, right as the tactical spreading of George’s power promised. For one matchstick it would take one tree, but with one matchstick a whole forest would be nothing but cooling ashes. For what little they have been given, the whole would be taken. If they can’t have it, no one would.  
George was one to admire the skeletons of withers. Their attacks would paralyse and surprise, and they would step back into the shadows, watching their work force the players into submission, as they grew closer to their doom. Their withering bodies, the life slowly getting sucked out of him. They wouldn’t feed on the player, they would feed on their pain, their suffering. A truly sadistic part of nature.  
“You think it’s time?” Sapnap asks, kneeling beside George’s throne, gazing outside to the pits and fountains of lava that flowed over the red stone. He had one knee propped up as he stayed beside the fallen king merely for protection.  
George nodded. “I assure you, dear knight, it will be a good night for us this day.” He sighs, standing up from his throne and motioning Sapnap to follow. “We have prepared for this battle day and night, they won’t see it coming.”  
“Have you checked the castle?”  
“They don’t suspect anything. I’ll go first, the great walls of the kingdom are surprisingly their weakest spots. Almost no one patrols there. I’ll distract them, they won’t expect anyone to take my side in this battle.” He says, stepping forward to the great balcony of the pitch black castle. “Meet me in front of the village at sun down, Sapnap. I’ll give you clear directions then. For now, scatter off and prepare for battle.”   
Sapnap nods and turns towards the halls, leaving the fallen king to himself.  
“Oh dear Clay...” George smiles crookedly, his hand enclosing around a pendulum that was dangling from his neck. His fist tensed around it, the smallest of cracks could be heard from the green crystal.  
“I can’t wait to break you to pieces, like you broke me.”

George’s feet felt heavy in his steps as he walked towards the well-lit village. The small lights brightened his dark iris’ and the familiar smells filled his nose. Home, at last.

The coat fluttered weakly in the wind. It had been a gift from Sapnap, stolen from the ruler of the hoglins. Sapnap told that slaying him had been the best option, since now their kingdom of shadows and fire was built. There were golden engravings on the coat, and the coat felt heavy in hand but light on shoulders.

His thoughts cleared as his feet met the cobble ground, and he glanced around. He spotted a few citizen, only few he recognized. A blonde, young woman gazed towards him, cocking an eyebrow. Niki. She didn't seem to be able to identify him...

So he really was so unrecognizable, huh.

Granted, his appearance of clothes was masked to not give away his identity. His goggles had been long gone, left on the table in his old vacation home with a note was wished never hearing upon Clay or associates of the kingdom ever again. His eyes seemed to have lost their light. They were guarded, like his trust in the folk faded and full of shadows. His hair is not well-styled and combed through anymore. Most of it is slicked back, with some dark strands curling against his eyebrow. His skin wasn’t as fair anymore and not spotless. It's scattered with burns and scars. He wasn't as thin anymore, but the thin skin showed the defined structure of the muscles underneath. He had gotten significantly stronger. He wasn’t a "fragile doll" anymore.

He heard steps behind him and so he turned, facing Sapnap eye to eye.

“I’ll climb up the wall and knock over some of the guards. Don’t dare to come up until I give the sign.” He told him, eyes narrowing. “Understood?”

“Yes your highness.”

George smiled at him, placing a gentle hand on Sapnap’s shoulder. The touch was easy, but as cold as ice. “I will see you later, dear knight.”

“Be careful dear king.”

George rolls his eyes. “I will be, just let me have my fun tonight.” He says before turning and walking along the cobble and gravel path, towards the large castle. George was on his own now.


	3. The invasion from the shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I knew you weren’t gone.” The voice growls, oh too familiar.
> 
> “Dream, I knew you were going to show up in my way at some point.” George’s voice was just as cold as his opponent’s.
> 
> “Oh come on, who are you kidding here...” Dream steps forward, coming closer to the roof’s tip and George. The knight glanced up, the firing flag reflecting in his eyes. “Ever since you weren’t king anymore you are hungry for power.” He huffs out, tone poisonous.
> 
> “As if you were any different.” George says, stepping back just a little and grinding his feet into the bricks, gaining ground. “Everyone in this god-forsaken world wants power. The only thing that differentiates us is the ability and will to get it. And trust me, I’m quite fond of keeping my word.” He states, raising his chin as Dream takes another step forward.
> 
> “You either die a hero or watch yourself become the villain, George.” Dream starts, one hand travelling across his stomach to the grip of his sword. “What is your choice, traitor.” He says, locking his eyes with his one friendly companion.

Guards were walking along the grand walls, weapons carried with them. George also had tools with him though. Daggers, rope, potions and a lighter.

He strides right towards the guards before turning to follow behind them, hiding in the rose bushes around the kingdom. There it was, the thinnest wall. It was the highest of them all, but it hadn’t been built with nearly as much caution as the others. George smirked.

He stepped out from the bushes, right behind two guards that were currently patrolling along the walls. He recognized their voices, but they were not of his importance. He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes as he quickened his steps, weight on his toes as he pulled a dagger from his belt, the translucent hard metal of black with sparks of purple glowing in the night. He reached the guards, from there it was within the blink of an eye.

The right one was slightly behind. George pushed his right arm forward before swinging it around the guard’s neck, immediately silencing him by pinching the knock-out point located at the left of his throat. The guard slumped over in his arms and George let him fall, armor clattering as it landed on the wet soil.

“Karl?” Quackity. The kingdom must’ve been desperate for new guards after his disappearance, letting unexperienced people work to guard the king. The once friend of George’s turned and faced the mere silhouette of the fallen king.

George wasted no time sprinting towards the guard who immediately sheathed his sword. He ducked under the blade of iron, taking his right fist into his left palm and twisting his body as he stood in front of the guard, his elbow stabbing into the unprotected part of his stomach, right under his left rib. The guard stumbled back, coughing violently and trying to get back on his feet. George jumped forward, pressing his heel sharply into the male’s collar, stepping slowly more and more onto his neck.

“Good night, Quack.”

He whispers before he saw the male weakly gasp for air. The fallen king leaned down, his index and middle finger swiftly dabbing into the skin beside his throat forcefully, hitting the right bundle of nerves, successfully knocking him out, just like he did with Karl. Second guard down.

George crouched down and grabbed Quackity’s key from his belt and cut them off with his dagger, dropping them in his pocket.

He pulled the rope from his belt, tying the Guards back to back, kicking their weapons away and out of reach for them.

Facing towards the wall, he examined the stone littered with moss and vines. He pulled a second dagger out, bending his knees before hopping up, pulling both his fists behind himself before whacking his fists forward. The daggers penetrated the cobble and got stuck in the thick protection of stone, George dangling from the wall by his fists. He twisted his body, pulling one dagger out. He raised the blade to his neck and dragged it down his collar, cutting through the thread that held his coat, letting it fall to the ground below him.

He curled the arm that had the dagger stuck in the cobble, the other stretching out and getting punched into the stone after George pulled his arm back a little for more force. He repeated this process many times, slowly catching a rhythm. He had practiced this many times under the heat of the nether, so his chances of getting exhausted now were slim, especially with the passionate hate fueling his energy.

His feet were dangling limply and his arms ached as he was half-way through. He glanced down at the ground that was about 30 feet away. Two other guards, whom George didn't recognize, found Karl and Quackity. He cursed to himself, pressing himself against the wall to try and conceal his body with the vines and shadows. The guards looked up and spotted him, the left one pulling out a bow. George dropped one arm, turning 180 degrees with his back facing the wall. Once the arrows were about to shoot him in the stomach and heart, he curled his body up at the same time as pushing his feet off the wall, pushing them into air, hearing the arrows clank against the stone right under his hips. He huffs, pulling out one dagger and swinging his arm to throw it towards the guard, now hanging from one arm. The dagger hit the guard’s head, that was unluckily protected with metal. He shivered slightly at the strength that it took to keep himself 34 feet in the air. He turned his body so he was facing the wall again. He looked up. 4 more feet to go. He looked down at his feet. No bricks for him to rest them on, the wall was flat and smooth beside the moss and plants, which definitely wouldn't be able to carry all his weight. He reached in his pocket, grunting as he reached for the rope.

He also grabbed a rigged dagger, his grip weakening. He pulled the dagger through the loop of the rope, now playing with the risk of falling to his doom as his grip loosened further.

He swung his body back and forth along the wall, facing the right end of the wall. More arrows were about to fly his way. One hand was painfully gripping the dagger, the other holding the rope and dagger.

As he swung back, he let his body fall slack before tensing. As he swung forward, he curled his arm and let go, pushing himself into the thin air above him. Arrows hit his feet as he slowly ran out of force, slowing down as he flew forward a little more. He took a leap of faith and threw the dagger with the rope upwards, slightly to his right. He aimed for one of the guards’ towers, the roof specifically. He felt his body slowly lose to gravity as he stopped going up, the guts in his body becoming lighter and lighter. He wrapped the end of rope around his arms swiftly, preparing to fall before he got stopped in place, his insides dropping to the pit of his stomach painfully.

He swung towards the tower, the rigged dagger buried into the wood of the log right under the roof. He pulled his feet to be in front, trying to feather out the landing as he collided with the wall. The rope tightened harshly around his arms.

He pulled his torso up, untangling one arm and gripping further up, only wrapping the rope once around his wrist. He heard guards and looked to his left, spotting them with sharp eyes. He connected his feet with the wall and walked along the wall, catching speed by sprinting on the vertically built stone, swinging over the edge of the tower and landing on the other side of the tower, now out of the vision of anyone. He began to climb up the rope more, soon reaching the top ledge of the wall. He glanced over, only one guard on his way towards him.

The armored male spotted the rope and George swiftly pulled himself up, jumping onto the ledge and startling the foe. He smiled crookedly.

“Hey there.” He huffs before leaping towards the guard, lifting one foot up to connect towards the guard’s chest, knocking him backwards, nearly boosting him off the opposite ledge. He still collided with the opposite wall though, blocking any more attacks with his shield and holding a sword in his other, weak hand.

George huffs, hopping up and holding onto one of the crossbars of the roof, pulling himself towards the guard and dropping right where his head was, kicking the shield back away from the guard and the other foot kicking his head backwards, a startling clank coming from the helmet as it split due to the force of being kicked against the stone.

The guard pulled himself back with a really painful headache, George kicking the shield back more, out of the guard’s reach. He saw no more reason fighting with him, he was just wasting time. Precious time.

George turned towards the paths on top of the walls, sprinting away from the guard, who started yelling something incoherent. Fuck, George was losing more and more time, and now the other guards were alarmed.

Guards crowded in front of him and he turned, only being faced with more guards.

Both sides closed in, guards sprinting towards him from both sides. He bent his knees before jumping up, the guards colliding as he landed on their heads with almost enough force to knock them down. George turned on one foot before heading towards the ladder in front of him, jumping onto the helmets of the guards below him. He flipped his body in the air before landing on the path of the wall once again. He quickly turned and jumped down the inner side of the wall, not even grabbing the ladder. He turned his body and put his feet on one of the ladder’s steps, using it to stop falling, as using his hands to stop would injure them badly.

He dropped the rest of the way down, walking forward to the main entrance to the halls. He was sprinting, knowing every little corner and escaping the crowds of guards chasing after him. He soon reached the big staircase towards the throne-room. Yet he turned right to a winded staircase of one of the towers. He needed to give Sapnap the sign for him to show up as well. His feet ached as he gripped the railing to boost himself forward, reaching the top. He panted, grabbing the lighter from his pocket.

The tower had one flag of many on it, so he climbed onto the cone roof of it. He walked up, the bricks under his feet loosening. He grabbed the flagpole as soon as it was in reach.

He flicked his thumb on the lighter, a small flame flickering towards him. He smiles at the fire that was about to unbind and tear the flag apart. He raised it to the fabric of the flag, lighting it on fire. That was Sapnap’s call to walk in and help George.

George stayed on the roof until he saw a faint silhouette walk towards the castle in a quick pace and knocked on of the guards down, chuckling softly. He’ll have to wait a bit until Sapnap got the guards on his tail, so he could follow through smoothly with invading the throne’s room while most of the enemies were distracted.

He heard steps on the bricks behind him and turned. Faced with the last person he wanted to see, he gripped the pole tighter in his palm, his expression darkening.

“I knew you weren’t gone.” The voice growls, oh too familiar.

“Dream, I knew you were going to show up in my way at some point.” George’s voice was just as cold as his opponent’s.

“Oh come on, who are you kidding here...” Dream steps forward, coming closer to the roof’s tip and George. The knight glanced up, the firing flag reflecting in his eyes. “Ever since you weren’t king anymore you are hungry for power.” He huffs out, tone poisonous.

“As if you were any different.” George says, stepping back just a little and grinding his feet into the bricks, gaining ground. “Everyone in this god-forsaken world wants power. The only thing that differentiates us is the ability and will to get it. And trust me, I’m quite fond of keeping my word.” He states, raising his chin as Dream takes another step forward.

“You either die a hero or watch yourself become the villain, George.” Dream starts, one hand travelling across his stomach to the grip of his sword. “What is your choice, traitor.” He says, locking his eyes with his one friendly companion.

“That will be in the eyes of the folk I will soon rule over again. You’ve made the mistake of being my opponent nonetheless.” George smirks crookedly. “You’ll be on the losing end nonetheless. Who else do you have except this silly little title? ‘Knight of the king’? I know you well enough to know that this wasn’t what you envisioned your hard work to turn out to be. You want to be ruler. So why are you subjecting yourself to serving someone as if they were truly superior?”

“This isn’t about my wishes.” Dream cuts him off, sheathing his sword and holding it under George’s chin. “I am simply assigned to do my job, poser. Get off this castle or I have the right to bring you back to the king dead or alive, as I desire.” He steps forward and George steps back.

George was in too deep to turn back now. He shifted a hand up to the tip of the blade, the fingerless gloves covering his palms in a dark leather pushing the sword from under George’s chin.

The fallen king chuckles before jumping onto the bricks, the loose platters of baked clay rushing down the roof. “See you in hell, Dream.” He whispers before the bricks reach the edge of the roof and George slowly tilts his body back, arms spread out to his sides. He closes his eyes, falling off the roof, into free air. The knight was quick to follow after him onto the edge, the traitor out of sight. Except...

Dream’s eyes widened. He saw a small flash of the window right underneath the roof. He leaned over, only to witness the glass smashed open.

George had escaped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed reading!   
> This might not be one of my most popular fics but I still very much enjoy writing this one tbh,,


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